


Glad You Came

by Brumeier



Series: Bite Sized Fic [123]
Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Alternate Universe - Music, Dysfunctional Family, Family Drama, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, M/M, Prompt Fill, Supportive John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2016-11-02
Packaged: 2018-08-28 17:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8454517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: LJ Comment Fic for Food, Glorious Food prompt: Any, any, just like Mom used to makeIn which Rodney has a bad day, and John is the perfect supportive boyfriend.





	

Rodney sat on the kitchen floor, staring at the bottle of whisky in his hands. The worst of his panic attack had passed, but it had morphed into something darker. He regretted having called John, would’ve called him back and told him not to come if he wasn’t so mesmerized by the slosh of liquid in the bottle. It was more than half full.

He should’ve gone to Red’s to see John perform. The whole evening would’ve gone differently.

_Don’t you know how much I love you?_

Rodney unscrewed the cap from the bottle and breathed in the peaty scent of it. He knew how it would taste going down, could almost feel the burn. He put the cap back on.

There was a perfunctory knock at his front door and then the sound of a key in the lock. Rodney shuddered with relief. John.

“Rodney?”

“In the kitchen,” Rodney said. He didn’t look up when John came in, didn’t want to see the expression on his face as he assessed the situation.

“Little trouble with dinner?” John asked.

Rodney nodded. He wasn’t looking at that either; smelling it was bad enough. Cheese and potatoes and thick chunks of ham congealing on the tile floor amidst shards of blue-tinted glass from the shattered casserole dish.

“Just like Mom used to make,” he said, and his hand tightened on the neck of the bottle. 

John sat on the floor next to Rodney, close but not touching. Rodney slid his leg over a little, just enough that he had a point of contact. It made him feel a little better. John didn’t ask any questions, just sat there quietly until Rodney felt ready to talk. It was so easy, talking to John. He never judged, never pitied. 

“I was making it to bring to Jeannie’s. Comfort food, you know? And then Mom called.”

John hooked his ankle over Rodney’s.

“She’s upset about the hearing. She doesn’t understand why her children are so hurtful, so ungrateful. She wants me to talk to Jeannie and cancel the whole thing.” Rodney huffed out a laugh. “And I just…I looked at the casserole and I remembered she always made it for us as a kind of apology after she’d had a particularly bad day.”

There’d been so many bad days. She’d forget to pick them up from school, and they’d missed so many doctor appointments that Rodney was surprised he and Jeannie were fully vaccinated. She’d been hit or miss with birthdays, holidays, pretty much everything. And those were the days she was conscious.

“Okay,” John said amiably. “Can I see that?”

He tapped the whisky bottle with his finger and Rodney hesitated a moment before handing it over. It had been a close call, but he didn’t need it anymore.

“I didn’t drink any,” he said, and hated how defensive he sounded.

“Okay.” John set the bottle aside, out of reach. It wouldn’t have stopped Rodney if he wanted it.

“I really wanted to.”

“I’ll bet. I would, too, under the circumstances.”

Rodney didn’t feel up to explaining the rest. How he went to Al-Anon meetings sometimes, or that he insisted on drinking just to show he could do it without getting carried away. But it was there, hiding in his genes, a pre-disposition towards alcoholism, and when his moods turned dark he knew it would be all too easy to get carried away.

Jeannie never drank. Ever.

“How was Red’s?” Rodney asked, ready to take himself out of the conversation. John was bound to reach his limit at some point, right?

“There was a good crowd. Lanie and I jammed together, which was pretty cool.”

“What did you sing?”

John reached out for Rodney’s hand, twining their fingers together, and then he sang, softly and just for Rodney. A cowboy song he’d never heard before, and _Folsom Prison Blues_. By the time he finished, Rodney had his head on John’s shoulder, and John’s arm around his shoulders, and he was feeling like himself again.

“I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be,” John said. He pressed a kiss to Rodney’s head. “All families are messy. We just do the best we can with what we have.”

Rodney felt warmth he’d never have gotten from inside a whisky bottle. What he had, right at that moment, was better than anything he ever could’ve hoped for. Rodney had thought he’d been in love once or twice in his life, but that was nothing compared to what he felt for John. 

“I’m glad you came,” he murmured.

“Always,” John replied.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** More angst for Family McKay. It’s funny, I haven’t felt inspired for this ‘verse in a while, and as soon as I saw that prompt I knew exactly what I wanted to write. Fate! LOL!


End file.
